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Having had a rather hectic day in the office, running around and rushing out late, I rocked up to the bar in which I’d arranged to meet my Internet date, slightly out of breath, with my strapless dress hanging marginally below my bra (as usual). He didn’t stand up. He clearly saw me come in, but for some reason, pretended he hadn’t. THE CHEEK! Had he been hot, I would have been pretty upset at this. I would have thought something like “F*** am I REALLY that gross? I mean I know I’m a sweaty wreck and my underwear was just on display in public, but am I honestly so bad that he’s pretending he’s not my date, right in my line of vision?”

However, because he was slightly ugly… well, not ugly, but definitely odd looking, I just adjusted my dress and thought “How annoying, I can’t believe I rushed here.”

He cocked his head like a confused Labrador and grinned only as I plonked myself down next to him. He revealed two wonky teeth set in his gums at a very disturbing angle. I tried not to reel back in my seat as I performed a quick analysis. Up close he looked like a middle-aged, Kendal mint-cake eating lesbian woman crossed with an inebriated Cheshire cat – absolutely nothing like the slightly grainy, black and white profile picture he’d posted online, in which he was poised with a cello, making him look arty, sophisticated and deep (so I thought). Ok so my own picture wasn’t exactly me as I look having run three blocks in a dress that’s too big for me, but still. I felt a little deceived as he bore his beady eyes into my face and wrapped his fingers round his beer like an evil old man about to ask a very naughty question to an innocent child (ahem).

I waited for him to offer me a drink, as his glass was almost empty and I was clearly in need of one. His eyes never left my face, or chest, as he started talking about himself. He’d had a flood in his office two days before we met. Uh oh. It was pretty bad and he’d been forced to mop. Apparently… wait for it… the office hadn’t been designed with flooding in mind and it had also been built with certain materials that I’d never heard of before. I tried to sound intrigued. Big mistake. “Oh really? You’ve never heard of that material before?” he replied incredulously. “Oh well… it’s a very versatile form of blah blah….” EffingHELLblahBLAH whatever-where’s my drink?!?!

I called the barman over and ordered my own drink, at which point he stopped talking and hurriedly ordered another one for himself… and then proceeded to talk about his time living in Japan. Apparently all the girls were dying for a western boyfriend over there and he was swamped with offers. There were too many numbers in his phone to call… so he says. I asked if he knew any Japanese. Even bigger mistake. He knew ten popular phrases, and he was damn well gonna list them for me, one to ten, with in-depth explanations for each one. Jaaaysus!

Now, maybe I’m a bitch but in the first five seconds of meeting someone, who clearly needs a drink and perhaps some form of greeting, (in no particular order), at what point does it even cross your mind to talk about materials prone to help in the prevention of flooding? And Japan?? I’m all about a decent conversation covering randomness… I recently spent about an hour discussing the attributes of cockroaches with a guy who used to live in Costa Rica, but this was just a little too much.

It got worse. I ordered another drink. He never asked me anything about me… my absolute favourite topic, obviously. He just talked and talked and talked me into a bored stupor until I sent “the text” quite sneakily under the table. “The text”, of course, is the one all girls send to their best mate when they’re on a first date – a progress report if you will. Mine read: “I’m running away. Put the kettle on.” I looked up to find the Cheshire cat staring at me intently once more and before I knew what was happening, his hand was reaching for my face, and he was stroking it. This time I DID reel backwards, asked him what the FCUK he was doing, to which he just grinned that gummy grin again. Uuurrgh.

I stood up, told him I had to go and he followed me outside, at which point he grabbed me again and tried to kiss me. I pushed him off, seeing his freakish mouth bearing down on mine in slow motion, imagining an actual repulsive, gob to gob encounter and wanting to puke. “Um… that’s not going to happen,” I said quickly, before turning round and running away. Yes, I actually RAN down Crown Street, all the way back to my house. I’m 30 years old, and I’m running away from boys.

When I got back, he’d sent me a text. It said: “I just wanted to confirm. When you said ‘that’s not going to happen’, did you mean just then, or never?”

Something tells me he should probably go back to Japan. And I should go back to Oasis Active… or perhaps not follow the crowds online anymore. There must be someone decent left in the real world… somewhere? Hello???

Taken from my blog! beckywicksblog.blogspot.com
Follow me on twitter: bex_wicks

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